Worth It
by SockHat
Summary: Story was lost for whatever reason, let's try this again. After the deaths of the others, 9 leads his fellow survivors on a trek to find answers. But still, even with the machines gone, loss continues to haunt him. Oneshot.


He'd lost it all. He'd lost everything.

Slowly, surely, the sorry, sagging bunch of burlap that was what remained of him trekked across the landscape. With every step, copper feet seemed to groan beneath their owner, and a faint whirring of mechanical gears became more and more strained. But still, he pressed on. He didn't know where he was headed, or what he would find there, but he had to keep going. For the sake of her. For the sake of everyone.

He wouldn't let them down.

How foolish they all were, back then. They all thought their troubles were over. That they would live happy and carefree till the end of their days. But his own deadly curiosity, that had claimed the lives of so many others, still did not rest, and so they set out. He had been so sure that they would find answers out there, that they would come across some grand enlightenment, even a _reason_ for why things had to be this way… But, again, curiosity led him astray. Again, foolish curiosity would claim lives.

The twins had been the first to leave.

9 still remembered the events leading up to that moment. He remembered that rusted spike they had seen too late, that agonizing drop and the sound of tearing fabric. He remembered 4, optics pinpricks and mouth wide open in a silent scream. He remembered 3, crouched over his sister's writhing body, his eyes clicking and flashing frantically, begging someone to help. He remembered the siblings asleep, holding each other for one final time. Most of all, he remembered the moment they realized 4 was gone.

He and 7 first took alarm when they woke up that morning, and the first thing they saw were 3's eyes blinking rapidly into their own. 7 had, immediately, sprung from her place of rest and over to where 4 lay, and she shook the twin fiercely as if to wake her. "4!" She cried, "4, 4! It's me, 7! You have to move! Please, 4, please… don't…" Her tone was becoming more desperate with every breath. "Don't do this… don't… die…" The last word was a barely audible choke, coupled with metal fingers loosening their grip on cloth shoulders. 3, still, seemed to echo 7's pleas, mouthing the words over and over again. _Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't…_

For a night and a day, they'd stayed in that cracked and empty oil barrel they called a shelter, mourning the loss of one more piece of their puzzle. It was almost shocking, for 9. For one, to see 7 cry. Strong, beautiful 7, who'd always seemed like such a hard shell to crack, and let nothing break her. But there she was, burying her face into his chest, heaving dry sobs as 3 clutched his sister's body. For another, to have experienced that terrible pang of guilt again. He'd been so sure of it this time, so sure that the destruction of the machines would herald a time of peace for them, a time without death and sadness and heartbreak. With the death of 4 he learned that no being was ever completely safe from those things, and that once again he had failed as a leader. 9 had failed to protect the ones he loved from that horrible hurt known as loss.

And then 9 had learned that lesson again when 3 left to join his twin.

Looking back, they should've expected it. After all, one part of a whole couldn't survive without it's other half, correct? But still he'd felt that terrible bubbling shock of loss when they'd awoken to find 3 just as motionless as the body next to him. This time 9, too, crouched over the twin alongside 7, but with gentler shakes and softer pleas. 3 hadn't quite left yet, then, but the others could see that he was nearly gone. He'd lifted his head, slowly, painfully, his optics hazy and unfocused. 7 had taken his hand, held it, and watched it go limp between her fingers. 3 had managed a strained smile, and then in what could've been a second or an hour something seemed to leave that shell of a body. His form became light, and hollow, and then 7 had cried again, for only the second time for as long as 9 had known her. To what was almost his surprise, 9 felt sobs bursting from his own throat to mingle with 7's, and he knew what it meant to break, to let go.

Eventually, the survivors left the remnants of their own kind behind them. They didn't look back to that old oil barrel, but 9 felt that they'd left something with the dead twins, something important, that they couldn't get back. He couldn't figure out what it was, exactly, but the spot where it had been lay empty within him, aching and throbbing. Some time later, the two remaining dolls had the luck to happen across a few bits of fabric from an old flag, and with it 9 fashioned two new graves for the lost. They didn't stand beside the tributes to the others, as they should have, and they didn't burn, for 9 had no matches. But with the construction of those graves 9 felt the ache of the empty spot inside him lighten, as if the knowledge that the twins were free had filled it up a bit.

"Say hi to the others for us, guys," 9 whispered as he looked to the sky, imagining he could see the eyes of 3 and 4 forever twinkling in the stars.

And the broken family moved on.

That should've been the end. It should've been all he had left to suffer. But 9 had not counted on one enemy that was working silently against him, an enemy that would've no doubt claimed his elders as well had they lived as they should have- time. It had been years, no, decades since he woke in the first room, newborn and innocent, and with every hundred thousand searching steps they took he and 7 were fading fast. He had begun to notice it in his companion, first- Her movements were not as graceful, as swift as they once had been, and her fabric was worn and ragged in places. Even her optics seemed cloudy and tired, and 9 was hauntingly reminded of the day they lost 3. But even with 9's worrying, 7 continued to insist that she was fine, and would prove so by walking briskly ahead of her partner or even challenging him to a race. And they kept walking, walking, walking, as time walked steadily on with them.

9 had almost dulled to the pain of loss, had almost filled up that hole left inside him when, suddenly, 7's body decided to fight back against the strength of her soul, and it won.

He should've noticed her, lagging behind like that, should've noticed her slowing pace, should've noticed the way he could almost hear the mechanics inside her struggling to work. But, somehow, by some cruel trick of his own nature, he still saw the 7 he loved, a 7 with energy, and strength, a 7 who wouldn't falter, and he didn't notice. No, not until he heard the little gasp of pained surprise, and the thump of canvas collapsing into the dust, did he realize something was wrong. Feeling that all-too-familiar bubbling well up inside him, 9 was at 7's side, calling to her. "7! 7, come on… You can.. Keep going… You always keep going… 7..."

7's mouth opened and she gave a dry, forced gasp. "Nuh… 9..." she managed, before something, some unseen, evil force seemed to catch inside her, and she simply stopped. No movement, no loving voice asking for help, nothing.

"7!" 9 cried again, now choking out his words, "7, NO! Oh please… Oh God, no… 7... 7..." Hands shaking, copper fingers fumbled with the clasp holding 7's chest together, and 9 reached inside to grasp the wires that usually fed his partner with life. He felt no movement, no warmth, not a hint that she was still there with him. 7 was gone. For the first time in his life, 9 was truly alone.

As a rare rain cloud began to douse the world in shadow, one body lay down beside the other; one shaking with hopeless sobs, one the empty shell that had once contained a magnificent spirit.

Like he had done for the twins, 9 constructed a grave in honor of his companion. He did not have fabric for her, but he used whatever scrap metal he could find and tied it together with a bit of string, mounting his crude monument on a cross, like the others. As 9 sat before his pathetic testament to his love, he, again, looked to the stars, and silently hoped that wherever 7 was, she was holding the twins once more, and that she was smiling at him with that beautiful smile of hers.

The emptiness inside him open anew, the last living creature on earth forged onward, determined not to give up.

"How… how foolish…"

9's tired voice was reduced to barely a croak now, and he gave a sarcastic laugh as he dragged himself along, limbs sagging. For years and years, even past 7's death, he'd kept searching, and yet he had found nothing. And now, somehow, he found himself in the form of this sad creature, barely alive, barely focused, with only the sheer force of instinct carrying him along. His metallic skeleton creaked in protest with every step, and it seemed that each thread holding his skin together would soon simply give up and he would fall apart. _Was this.. What 7 felt?_ he wondered, no longer possessing the strength to speak, _How did she… stand it?_

At last, 9's foot was planted firmly on the ground and he could move it no more. It seemed 9's body had finally lost all faith in it's owner, and 9 felt the earth rush up at him, scattering little bits of dust as he collapsed with a thud. With his final efforts long spent, 9 felt an all-too-familiar sensation wash over him: Despair. This was it, the end. He had been sent here to protect the future, to save his kind, and yet he had only made things worse. Nothing had been accomplished. Nothing.

Optics flickering open and closed, 9 struggled to give the wasteland one final, testing gaze. His thoughts barely coherent enough to form sentences, the words groaned across his mind. _Was it… worth it?_

But, then, something entered 9's fading line of sight that seemed to stand out from it's gray and brown surroundings. Yes, this object was clearly vibrant, but in a way 9 hadn't seen before. The thing seemed to awaken something inside his muddled and murky head, like a long-lost memory, or even a dream. The thing was… special, he knew that, he just couldn't tell why. Arm shaking violently from the effort, 9 reached out a hand.

As he felt his cool, metal fingers stroke the strange object, he realized something wondrous. The thing was _alive._ It was green, the color of his friends' souls, and it seemed to pulsate with that same warmth, that same hope and same life. But even then, it was different. 9 didn't know exactly how, but he could tell that this growing, moving, alive _thing _was what he had been searching for all along.

With his vision fading, and darkness creeping in, 9 repeated what had been his final thought to himself. _Was it worth it?_

_Yes…_

And with the final tick of weary gears, the last of the nine saviors was released to join his brothers in the sky.


End file.
